


summer thunder

by youlovelythief



Category: Bleach
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-06-10 13:54:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6959470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youlovelythief/pseuds/youlovelythief
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Orihime and Ishida, post-war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	summer thunder

_I cut me open, but you did all the pouring out._

— Play Ball! by Modern Baseball

* * *

He goes to her in the middle of the day, while the cicadas drone on and the heat blankets the town. The back of his neck is damp with sweat as he rings the doorbell.

When she answers the door, a faint look of surprise comes over her flushed face.

"Ishida-kun."

He looks up at her just as the _cool_ air inside her apartment washes over him. "Inoue-san, I..."

She leans against the door frame, folding her arms. Holding herself, eyes somber.

He shakes his head, fists at his sides. "I can't be sorry."

"I know, Ishida-kun."

"I fought on the side I was supposed to. I went to every length to prove my loyalty to my kind, my race. I didn't want to be the last Quincy anymore, Inoue-san, I wanted justice for my family. For my mother. I didn't know it would go so far, but..." He swallows. "I started with intentions that I will not apologize for."

Despite the heat, Orihime hugs herself tighter.

"You lost the war."

"Yes." He pushes up his glasses.

"So," she sighs, "Soul Society will decide what to do now. They haven't called on you, Ishida-kun. You did nothing wrong. You just picked the losing side. Please don't apologize." She smiles, finally, beaming up at him. "Especially not to me, Ishida-kun," she says, reaching out to softly touch his elbow.

He tenses.

"I didn't want to fight you," he finds himself saying without thinking, trying to make her understand. "I didn't want to hurt you, Inoue-san, I didn't mean to, at least..."

Her hand drops back to her side. "You didn't hurt me," she insists, "and we never fought. You lost the war, Ishida-kun. It's over."

Orihime looks away from him suddenly, plants her gaze on the ground, still smiling, and he feels the world tilt as he realizes how hard it must be for her to see him. To even be in his presence.

"Anyway, you should, uh, come inside, Ishida-kun!" All warmth and hospitality, Orihime takes Ishida's wrist and guides him into her apartment, closing the door behind them. "Goodness, it's a scorcher, Ishida-kun, let me get you something nice and cold to drink. I just went to the store today, let's see..."

In the tiny entrance to Inoue's apartment, with her few, colorful shoes lined up neatly next to the door, her raincoat hanging dry and disused on the wall, Ishida feels the air conditioning above the door immediately blow against the nape of his neck and lets out a sigh. As he leans down to pop his shoes off, Orihime moves into the kitchen to take out a pair of glasses. He follows her just as she turns around from the cabinet to hand him one.

 "Take whatever you like," she says, as he accepts the cup from her. Their fingertips brush around the glass, but there is no hint of lingering. She turns back around, he crouches to open the fridge.

Immediately, Ishida notes the surprising emptiness of her refrigerator. The lack of colorful fruit, the abundance of vegetables, the questionable soups she brewed herself for dinner—all of it contrasted sharply with the stark white walls of the fridge. All that remained was a case of water bottles, a plastic bag of carrots, and two jugs of iced tea and lemonade. He wonders just what exactly she had bought at the store. The world doesn't quite tilt, but unease yawns inside him like a chasm.

As he reaches for a pitcher of lemonade, Ishida hears the soft clink of ice cubes, the running of the faucet. He looks up at Orihime. "Just water?" he asks, raising his eyebrows. Ishida remembers a rainbow travel mug sitting on her desk every morning, full of some awful egg and shrimp smoothie she had concocted on her own. Water never seemed like a choice she would willingly make. "Have you eaten lunch yet, Inoue-san?"

Orihime glances over her shoulder at him from the sink, blushing slightly. "No, but, the truth is, I haven't been eating much lately," she laughs. "Ever since we got back, I guess I haven't really been hungry? Yoruichi-san said it's probably because I spent a little too much time in Hueco Mundo. So I've been drinking a lot of water because Tatsuki-chan says it's very important that I stay hydrated, you know—“ She flings her hand up, waving it, flustered. “—especially in this heat. And, you know, my brother used to say, 'Water is life, Orihime! Water is the essence of life!', and it's all I've been in the mood to have because, I don't know, ever since we got back, I just, I can't stop thinking..."

Orihime falls silent, and Ishida slowly rises to his feet, abandoning the open fridge. Just as he begins to reach out to her, she whips around, back against the counter, hands pressed against her thighs. She stares up at him with her grey eyes, as dark and heavy as the thunder clouds looming outside.

"I thought you would never come home."

Her voice is soft, and it wavers so slightly that only their proximity allows him to hear the way her tongue delicately handles the last word. Her eyes are overcast clouds, glassy with an oncoming rain, and if Ishida was more adept at his own emotions, he might have realized that his dark blue eyes were warning her of the exact same weather.

He steps into her in one fluid motion: gripping the counter on either side of her, bowing his head over her shoulder, his stance overlapping hers. Not quite touching, but she takes a sharp intake of breath against his neck that leaves his blood thundering in his ears.

_"Inoue-san."_

He forces her name out of his clenched jaw because he hopes that she can hear the storm churning beneath his skin, the winds howling against his ribcage, the downpour flooding his good judgement. Ishida says her name because the summer thunder drowns out what he means to say:

"I should've died for you on top of the dome, Inoue-san, look at all the pain I could've saved you by now if I had died in your arms with Kurosaki's hollow standing over us—that, _that_ I could stand far better than you not being able to look at me. I was trying to protect you, Inoue-san, I was trying to protect all of our friends, because I was stupid. Because I thought I was making a sacrifice, because I wanted to try saving the day like Kurosaki always does. Instead you nearly killed yourselves trying to save _me_ , and thank _God_ , thank whatever god or goddess or deity there is out there, that I lost the war, Inoue-san. Thank them for letting you all survive, thank them for letting _you_ survive, Inoue-san, I'm so sorry, Inoue-san—“

Instead, her name escapes into the space between his mouth and her shoulder, and his fist clenches on the counter, his knuckles white like the uniform of the Quincies. The sound of her breathing fills his ears, the fresh, clean scent of her hair pervading his senses, clinging to his clothes. His eyes are shut tight, his teeth gritted, holding onto the shape of her name for as long as they are allowed to form it.

"Orihime."

Her hands glide up his shoulder blades with a touch as light as silk, so delicate and smooth he thinks he must be imagining it, until her head falls forward to rest on his shoulder.

"Please," she murmurs, moving into him, closing the gap between their bodies, "call me Orihime."

His body all but collapses onto her, his arms enveloping her shoulders, his face nestled in her hair. She stands up on her toes to press her face into the crook of his neck, and he doesn't even have to say it. She mumbles it against his skin over and over like one of her healing incantations.

"Uryuu."


End file.
